Eric and his Mate
(sent by Psychouzibear)
Eric and his mate, Jock, were quite a team… a couple of strong, muscular fishermen, who usually fished off the coast of Sligo, Ireland. They were real men... used to hard, dirty work, and they managed to make a good living at it. Eric was the older, bigger man... standing a full six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a big butt, and a nice, round gut. He was hairy and bearded, yet a likable man. Most everyone loved his sea stories, not least of all Jock. Jock was younger and smaller, but still well-built, and solid. The hairy, beefy twenty-eight year old was dependable, loyal, and easy to get along with... and best of all, he wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. At 5' 10" tall, Jock weighed around 210 pounds, was hairy, and rock-solid. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, and he obviously was belly-centered. He nearly always had at least one hand on his tight, round, hairy belly.... rubbing, scratching, patting, or slapping it passionately. The proud, sexy Irishman walked tall and erect, with shoulders back, never slumped. All, but no one seemed to pay any attention to it. Afterall, the last thing they wanted to do was bring on the wrath of the two hearty Irishmen.
The only real danger they faced, other than the obvious ones that they incurred during the course of their profession, were the "pirates", a group of despicable men who would wait until the fishermen got their boats full, and then try to take the load, for their own gain. Because of that, Eric and Jock kept guns on the boat, just in case. One particularly difficult trip beyond the Sligo Bay had netted the men quite a load, but they were exhausted. The northern winds were kicking up, and a light mist was rolling across the deck, as they saw the lighthouse in the distance. The rest of the crew had long-since retired below deck, to get some rest, or just play cards, but Jock and Eric stood out on the deck, leaning against the railing. Eric had pulled a big woolen sweater over his coveralls, and it quickly took the edge off the brisk winds that were whipping across the ship's hull. The tough, hot-natured young Jock wore only a light jacket, and even that was open to his low-slung trousers. Jock lit a cigarette and drew hard on it. Eric snuggled close to him, and ran his hand across the kid's round, hard belly, and Jock grinned up at him. As Jock exhaled, Eric stared at his handsome face.
"It'll be good to get home," he said. Jock smiled and said, "you're damned right, it will. I can't wait to get clean, naked, and in bed with you."
"Say, Eric," yelled young Thompson. "There's a boat approaching, from the forward side." Eric and Jock rushed over to take a look. "Damn, it's that sorry Farrell bunch," exclaimed Eric. Jock took one more drag and thumped his cigarette into the sea. "I'll roust the others, and we'll show those fuckin' bastards who's boss," he said, after exhaling fully. By the time the Farrell family had gotten close, all twelve men were stationed about the boat, guns and other weapons in hand.
"Say, Eric! How ye doin'," shouted Angus, the father of the rowdy bunch? "We be fine, Farrell," yelled Eric. "What is it that you want?"
"I was thinkin' that we might get together, here on me boat, for a little whiskey and partyin'." "Nope, it's time me and my men got back to shore. Thanks for the invitation, just the same," yelled Eric.
"Alright...if that's how ye feel," said Angus, as he turned around to give the order to move on. But he didn't give the order to move on instead, the big man tossed his hand in the air, and shots began to ring out.
Three of Eric's men screamed out in pain, as bullets struck them in the chest and head, and the rest of the crew hunkered down for the fight. Farrell's boat drifted forward, as the shooting continued, scraping against the hull of Eric's boat. Thompson nailed three of Farrell's men, two of them falling into the sea, between the two boats. Mayhem ensued for several long minutes, as the two crews shot at one another from the boats.
Without warning, several of Farrell's men, lead by his young son, Collin, swung aboard the boat, and Jock spotted them first. He took careful aim at the largest one, Anthony. The blast of Jock's gun sent the big man staggering back, his heart a bloody mess. The others scattered like quail, leaving Anthony to die on the deck. Collin came upon young Thompson, but he tucked his gun away. Reaching down, the young Farrell picked up a harpoon gun. Holding it to his side, he eased closer and drove it with all of his might into the young man's lower back, the point emerging from his gut. Thompson screamed loudly, and Collin grinned sadistically, as he worked the big spear back and forth in his guts. Thompson finally grew weak and sank like a rock.
Taking his knife out, Collin eased down the deck towards the other men. Eric's men fought hard, but they were clearly overrun, and it seemed obvious that they couldn't win. Farrell had too many men to fight off but if any of Eric's men feared their death, they sure didn't show it. Jock was the most fearless of them all, bringing down seven of Farrell's men, alone. He was trying to get to Collin, and had to fighthis way to him. Collin sensed that someone was coming up behind him, so he quickly slipped inside a hatch and waited. As Jock moved closer to the hatch, Collin rushed out and drove his knife into Jock's belly. The two men were the same age, and had grown up together, though they had remained enemies from the start. Collin laughed loudly, as he worked the blade back and forth inside Jock's aching guts. Suddenly, Jock clenched his teeth, and took hold of the smaller man. Grasping him firmly, Jock swung Collin around, and Farrell looked shocked. Standing in front of him was Thompson, slumped over, the harpoon still protruding from his middle. Without warning, Thompson thrust his body into Collin's, sending the point of the harpoon into Farrell's flat belly. Collin's eyes widened, as he felt the big spear rip through his guts, and straight out of his arching back. Even after Thompson's belly pressed against Farrell's, they stood, clutching one another in a firm embrace, groaning in agony.Jock left them to find Eric.
By the time Jock located the big man, he saw that the elder Farrell had wounded Eric in the thigh, and that several men were tying him to the bulkhead. Enraged, and still carrying Collin's knife in his gut, Jock bent over with a groan. He picked up a rifle, and stood back up.
Farrell reached for a rifle at the same moment, and aimed it at Eric. "Say ye prayers, mate," he growled. Two of the men stood in the way of Farrell, and Jock opened fire on them, striking one in the back, and the other in the chest, as he turned around to shoot at him. Farrell quickly wheeled around, forgetting the tied-up man in front of him. Eric squinted his eyes, and spotted Jock through the mist. Damn, he looked hot, he thought. He was standing erect, as always, his shoulders pulled back, a big grin on his handsome bearded face. Then, Eric spotted the knife, and he grew sad. Jock and Farrell fire together, and each was hit with a slug. Jock aimed higher, sending Farrell to the deck with a slug in his chest, while Farrell had hit him low in the belly. Jock choked, and grabbed his lower belly, but he stumbled towards Eric. As soon as he reached the big man, he took out his knife and cut him loose.
"I'll get you some help," said Eric, as he cradled the man in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Jock saw a movement, and heard a noise. Pulling away from Eric, he turned towards it, to shield Eric from whatever it was. It was Farrell, and the man on the deck opened fire again, sending four slugs into Jock's guts before Eric could do anything to stop him. Jock dug at his hairy belly and groaned, then fell to the deck, as soon as he heard the hammer hit an empty chamber. Two of Farrell's men rushed around the corner and opened fire, sending a half-dozen slugs into Eric's hairy belly, and the big man grunted and danced back against the bulkhead. He rubbed his big belly with both hands, as the two gunmen rushed over to help Farrell up. Once on his feet, he clutched his upper chest, and muttered to the men, "finish the bastard." As they took position in front of Eric, they heard a loud thunk, followed by a scream of agony. Turning around, the two men saw Farrell staring down at the knife stuck through his heart. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell forward, the knife slamming into the wooden deck.
Looking over in the shadows, they spotted Jock, sitting in a heap on a bench, a huge grin on his handsome face, and no knife in his gut. The men stormed over to him, as the kid slid down to lay across the bench. Jock smiled up at them and one of them leaned over, placing the smoking gunbarrel near Jock's navel. In complete defiance, Jock mustered amazing strength, arching his back and pushing his bellybutton against the barrel.
Eric clutched himself and stumbled towards the men. Just as he got close, he spotted Jock, his belly pressed to the barrel of the man's gun. Jock spat blood in the man's face, and the gunman fed him all he had...right into the kid's guts.
"Noooooo...noooo," groaned Eric, as he charged towards the men. The other gunman swung around and emptied his gun into Eric's big, round gut, but it didn't stop him. He charged on, gathering lead, but too enraged to stop. Taking hold of the shooter's throat, he squeezed so hard that the man was panicked. Eric's hands were like a vice, as he choked the man. At first, the second gunman tried to pry Eric's fingers from his buddy's throat, but he couldn't budge them. Rushing across the deck, the gunman found a 38 automatic. He quickly checked and it was fully loaded. Jock was coughing up blood and massaging his aching belly, but the stout young Irishman pulled himself up onto his feet. Spotting the gunman with the 38, he thrust his body in front of Eric. Eric had finally strangled the man he was choking, and he turned him loose, the big man falling like a sack of rocks. As the gunman stalked the two, he fired one slug after another into Jock's belly, and Eric couldn't stand it anymore. He shoved the kid aside, and charged at the gunman, taking three more slugs in his big, hairy belly, before he reached the man.
Enraged, Eric grasped the man's gun and twisted it out of his hand. Placing it to the startled man's chest. Eric fired the last bullet through the unlucky man's heart, and the gunman dropped to the deck. As soon as Eric turned around, Jock stumbled forward, and into his arms. Jock kissed his neck and moaned. They slowly slid to the deck, clinging to one another. For several minutes, they heard nothing but the laping of the waves against the side of the boat, and their own low moans, as they dug at their wounded bellies.
A lone man crawled through the mist, to where they lay. He was Farrell's nephew, and he had four slugs in his body. When he reached the two men, he sat on his legs, and reached behind his back. Pulling a 9mm from his trousers, he raised it up and took aim at Eric's big gut. Jock reached up and took hold of the kid's hand. He twisted it so far that the kid screamed out in pain. Jock nearly broke his wrist.
The kid sank down on top of Jock, the gun between them. Farrell fired the gun four times, sending all four slugs deep into Jock's belly. He finally grew limp. Eric rolled onto his side, and reached for the kid's throat. As soon as he took hold of Farrell's slender neck, the kid slid the gun from between his and Jock's stomachs, and placed it to Eric's big hairy belly. He managed to empty the gun into the big man, before the kid fell away from him, dying from his previous wounds. Eric pushed the kid off of Jock, and he heard him moan low. Eric couldn't believe how bloody Jock's hairy belly was. There was no telling how many times he had been shot. Jock glanced up at Eric and smiled before he died. Eric massaged his big gut, as he lay his head on Jock's muscular chest. A couple of gasps later, he died.